Along the Road of Life I Carry With Me Memories

ALONG THE ROAD OF LIFE I CARRY WITH ME MEMORIES Recollected childhood trips seem an intensely hot affair. We took a bus, tight-filled with sweaty people’s feet For hours; but then at the end, there was air. And gone were the constriction and glaring heat - In the tranquil cool shade of the springtime wood. There were spreading red campions and more - In places where a little sun shimmered and could Make yellow pools on the woodland floor. And everywhere the fairy bluebells all Nodding in crowds blue and thronging. In life I carry with me and oft recall That day, the happiness, the feeling of belonging. I picked armfuls hoping to preserve their beauty till later, Wrapping them in wet cloth in a water-pail To survive the torrid heat of the bus-incinerator, Unaware that their happy lives I would thus curtail. An intensely-lived child-experience does not diminish, But telescopes into a longer event, perhaps with fairies, Sometimes without any definite finish. Tiny spaces can morph into prairies. Maybe the bluebells were just there in some garden to find , But I did see them somewhere, and I really made the trip, I really smelled them. They were not just a dream in my mind : And for years after, I wanted to relive their friendship. But trying to recapture childhood memory Is like trying to preserve beauty a-flowering By picking it for a collection in a repository. Its beauty is gone with the garnering. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Written for Paula Swanson's Contest "I Carry With Me"